


The Result of Careful Planning

by formergirlwonder (orphan_account)



Series: Adventures of Oracle and Nightwing [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Everyone is adorable, Gen, Humor, One-Shot, The Night Before The Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 12:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9491258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/formergirlwonder
Summary: Sequel to The Adventure of the Purloined Ring.At 3:05 on the night before their wedding, Tim sends Babs and Dick an...interestingaudio clip.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So, a longer sequel jumping about a year forward will be up eventually...but I finished this and thought people might enjoy it! Let me know what you guys think!
> 
> (Oh, and you can find the comic pages that the audio clip is based on at https://scansdaily.dreamwidth.org/348293.html.)

If Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon had been normal people, then their wedding _might_  have been beautiful and perfect.

Unfortunately, they were not normal in the slightest, and so their wedding was doomed to be a collection of ridiculous irregularities. Every aspect of the process had been fraught with danger, from selecting the wedding party (Cass and Steph as bridesmaids, Roy and Tim as groomsmen, Dinah as maid of honor, Wally as best man, Jason and Helena roped into making additional speeches with varying degrees of willingness, Bruce instructed to sit down and _watch_ without letting his Brucie persona ruin things, and Damian forcibly conscripted into highly reluctant service as the ring bearer), to convincing Bruce not to pay for everything, to finding a location that was upscale enough to suit Bruce and Alfred, yet not too snobby for Jim’s comfort, to making sure that the wedding party actually did their jobs (read: that Damian didn't try to steal the rings again and/or delegate ring-bearer service to Batcow, both of which he had threatened to do), to preventing the press from attending, to reminding Bruce that he wasn’t allowed to pay a penny, to convincing Wally and Steph not to throw bachelor and bachelorette parties, to creating a gift registry and making sure people _stuck_ to it (instead of buying gag gifts that could potentially endanger their secret identities, like green scaly short-shorts), to reminding Bruce that he was _not_ allowed to make a speech for fear of a Brucie invasion, to reminding Jim that Bruce’s lack of involvement in the wedding party did not make Jim the preferred father by default, to freezing Bruce’s credit card so he wouldn’t try to pay, to calling every venue in Gotham and its surrounding environs to warn them not to accept Steph or Wally’s reservations for bachelor and bachelorette parties, to embedding a tracker in the rings (thereby hopefully thwarting most of Damian’s schemes), to sending out a last-minute warning to the wedding party that a. the circumstances of how exactly Dick proposed to Barbara were off-limits for discussion at the wedding, b. on no account was anyone to let Bruce and Jim anywhere near each other or reporters lest a father-in-law brag-off ensue, c. no assassin-background relatives and spouses were to be permitted unless expressly invited (read: Roy, Jade cannot be your plus one, okay? Just like Bruce didn’t invite Talia... _right, Bruce?_ ), d. no weapons (defined as things designed for inflicting bodily harm or physical damage) were to be permitted, whether concealed, unconcealed, or alien in origin, and e. anyone choosing to refer to Damian as “cute” or “adorable” would not be guaranteed protection from the consequences of that action.

By 2:58 AM on the night before her wedding, Barbara was utterly and completely exhausted.

“Oracle, come in. This is Robin.”

With a sigh, she changed channels. “Yes, Robin?”

“I have a business proposal for you.”

“Robin, this line is for patrol. Not your business proposals, which you can’t really have, by the way, since you’re a legal minor--”

“Tt,” Damian said, cutting her off. “I was merely going to suggest that you use your influence with Grayson to convince him to allow me to carry weapons at the ceremony. Clearly, I can be trusted with them--”

She pulled up a map. “No civilian names, Robin. Are you done with that bank robbery?”

“Yes,” he snapped. “If you agree to provide me with this favor, I will furnish my personal list of Nightwing’s culinary preferences for your information,” he continued, much more sweetly.

Damian (although he was outwardly supportive of the marriage) had convinced himself that the only person capable of taking care of Dick as Dick deserved was Alfred. Thus, he had been trying to educate Barbara in the mysteries of his brother (while failing to take into account that Barbara had known said brother for longer than he himself had been alive.)

Barbara decided to humor him momentarily. It was 2:59 AM now. “What weapons are you thinking of carrying?”

His tone was determinedly airy. “Nothing much. My sword, a pair of sai, batarangs, throwing stars, throwing knives, and some minor explosives.”

“No.”

“But--”

“No. If I let you carry weapons, I would have to let everyone do it. The answer is no. But for the record, I know what Nightwing eats, and we split the cooking 50/50 these days.” She switched the line before he had a chance to respond.

When they had first gotten engaged, Barbara and Dick had come up with a list of rules to preserve the peace--specifically, rules denoting when one of them was allowed to ignore the other in favor of work. Thanks to those rules, Oracle signed off at 3 AM every night, unless the world was ending. In fact, if the world was ending, Oracle would probably still sign off at 3 AM. (She would much rather spend her last hours with Dick than spend them manning comms and doing research.) In return, Nightwing transferred to GCPD and negotiated with Bruce to join patrol late so he could actually get a couple hours of sleep every night.

“Alright, folks, I’m out for tonight. Try to wrap up before sunrise. Comm traffic should now redirect to the Cave.”

She didn’t wait for responses before clicking all channels decisively over to Alfred. “Honey, I’m home!” she called.

Dick came out of their bedroom, toweling his hair off with one hand and reading a collection of adoption agency pamphlets with the other. “Was that Dami on comms?” he asked.

“Yep. He still wants to bring weapons. He even bribed me with a list of your food preferences.”

Dick reacted with mock indignation. “Hey! Not fair! How come you get bribes, and all I got was threats?”

“Because Dami knows that you think it’s cute when he threatens you. I don’t let him get away with that stuff.”

Dick flopped dramatically onto the couch. “It is so not fair that I am a _literal cop_ , and yet somehow, between the two of us, _I’m_ the good cop.”

She shrugged, reaching for her 3 AM snack (tonight, the kale chips that Alfred had insisted they substitute for popcorn at least twice a week). “Good cop’s still a cop. Besides, nobody looks at the two of us and imagines that I’m the nice one.”

Dick snagged the bowl of chips from her absentmindedly. “Fair point. So did you give in to the bribery?”

Barbara wheeled to the kitchen, making another pass at the bowl. Dick held it above her head, tauntingly, before offering it to her. “Of course not. I’ll have you know that I take my role as Bad Cop very seriously. I am committed to upholding the GCPD’s standards of integrity.”

“Which aren’t great--”

“--in _practice_ , but in writing, they’re fantastic.”

“True,” Dick conceded, rooting through the kitchen cupboard. “You know what we should do?”

“What?”

“We should get a metal detector set up, make people go through security. That way nobody brings anything wacky, and nobody murders anybody.”

Barbara poured herself a glass of water. “A metal detector won’t stop people from bringing Kryptonite, or something dumb like that. You do know that rule was specifically designed for your family members, though, right?”

Dick found the blender and tossed in a frozen banana with peanut butter and some almond milk. “Okay, fine. We’ll install a metal detector at the exit to Wayne Manor.”

She laughed. “Um, Dick, you’ve already got a metal detector. His name is Alfred.”

Dick poured his smoothie and sat down at the kitchen table. “Haha. No, really, Babs, is it weird that I’m totally stressed out for this? I had a dream last night where Dami fed the rings to a mother penguin, waddled the penguin up the aisle, brought out a hungry baby penguin at the top, and grabbed the rings when the mom started throwing up her food for the baby.” He paused contemplatively. “Oh, and then Penguin attacked. Of course.”

She rubbed his shoulder sympathetically. “Poor thing.”

Dick took that as encouragement to continue. “And last week, I woke up in the middle of the night, totally panicked about the fact that we’re letting Jason make a speech. I mean, _Jason_! Remind me why we thought that would be a good idea?”

“Alfred wanted you to make sure all your siblings had a job to do, and nobody else wanted to make a speech. Honestly, we’re lucky that he agreed. The longer we drag out the reception--”

“--the more likely it is that the press will give up waiting outside. I know. Still, do you think it’ll be better or worse than the speech from Sherlock?”

Barbara pretended to consider. “Better, of course. As long as he keeps the swearing to a minimum. Anyway, I made Steph promise she’d coach him, so it’ll be fine.”

Dick’s phone chimed before he could argue with her about the efficacy of Steph’s coaching. She craned her neck to see the screen. “What is it?”

“Okay, so remember how Timmy is making a video to play at the reception?”

“Yeah.” He’d used it as his excuse to get out of making a speech. Of _course_ she remembered (and that video had better be damn good, because it had forced them to give Jason speaking time at an event that would probably be crashed by reporters).

Dick grinned. “So, he got the idea tonight to stay home from patrol to check through some of the old comms data and see if there was something he could add, just for a little extra pop.”

Barbara hadn’t heard that part of it. “Is he going to out us to the press?”

“Calm down, Babs. Timmy’s smart. No, he just found some clip he wants us to see.” He read aloud from the phone. “Hey guys! Found this while data-trawling tonight. Think you should definitely-- _call the wedding off_?” He glanced at her agitatedly. “What do you think he means?”

Barbara shrugged, reaching carelessly for another chip. There was no possible way that she was calling this wedding off, no matter what Tim thought he had found. “Play it, I guess. I mean, you know Tim. If it was bad, he would tell us about it, not text it to you.”

Dick laughed, settling back into his chair more comfortably. “Right. I was just trying to remember if one of us dated someone the other didn’t know about.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? You think that would call this wedding off? I am not getting locked in a library again, Boy Wonder.” Dick chuckled as he pressed play.

It was an audio file, and the sound quality was so grainy that it couldn’t be recent at all. “ _Deadly_ beloved, we are gathered here today to join these two in _fatal_ matrimony!”

She squinted at Dick in confusion, but he looked just as lost as she was. The voice continued. “Wilt thou, Batgirl, have this man, Robin, to be thy wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward...so long as ye both shall live?”

And then her own voice, considerably younger, chimed in. “I...will…” She recognized it as the tone of voice she had used for faking hypnotic trances (a must-have skill for female vigilantes back in the day).

At that point, Dick choked on his smoothie, and she had to pause the file in order to thump him on the back. “Married?” he spluttered incoherently. “We’re already _married_!”

“I’m pretty sure that wasn’t an actual priest.”

He groaned and moved to play the file again. The vows were repeated for Dick (and _damn_ , he had been young. She placed his voice at 16, max, which dated the file to just before he became Nightwing. Unfortunately, that meant she was either seventeen or eighteen in the video. She _really_ hoped she wasn’t eighteen. Their year-and-ten-months age difference had never seemed larger than when it had stranded them on opposite sides of adulthood.) Dick scrunched up his nose at the sound of his own voice. She had always been much better at faking hypnotism, and it _really_ showed in the file.

Predictably, in the next thirty seconds of the recording, everything went to hell. Someone threw a batarang, and there was definitely close-range hand-to-hand going on. Finally, Dick’s voice rose mischievously above the din. “I know you’re supposed to throw rice at the groom--” a cocky pause, during which she could almost picture him, nearly bursting with uncontrollable glee “--but the groom prefers to _pepper the guests_!”

Dick’s head sunk into his hands. “ _Why?_ ” he muttered tortuously. She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.

In the recording, Batgirl exclaimed, “Heads up, _hubby_! Here comes your blushing bride!” Barbara belatedly remembered that her un-hypnotized voice had been horribly shrill. She paused the recording hastily. “You heard enough?”

Dick groaned in response. “Timmy’s out to get us. For sure.”

“Look at it this way. If he and Steph get married someday, we can send them some of their most embarrassing moments.”

“I was such a brat. Like, whenever I hear recordings of my younger self I want to--shake him or something. I mean, I thought I was _cool_!”

She giggled at that. “Okay, but there’s some stuff I don’t get. One: did you pepper-spray them, or did you just throw ground black pepper at them?”

He thought back. “Ground black pepper, actually,” he conceded. “I must have used a lot of it, though, because there were probably at least five of them that went down coughing.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Robin, the Chef Wonder. No, seriously, you must have used like three cups of it, and I really don’t want to know how you kept all that in your utility belt.”

He scoffed. “In a special, lined pocket, of course. I’m not a hooligan. And I’m pretty sure you took a guy out with cayenne once.”

Of course Dick would oversimplify things like that. “I was fighting in a soup kitchen, and I ran out of batarangs, so I smashed a bottle of it on his head, Dick. I did not just randomly throw a handful of cayenne in the air and hope it took him out. Besides, cayenne is actually more effective than ground pepper, because it contains a higher concentration of piperine, which--”

Dick grinned. “Okay, Babs, I get it. You’re smarter than me. No need to prove it. What’s question two?”

She drummed two fingers on the table. “Okay, you probably won’t know this one, but I’m drawing a blank. Why did they decide to marry us, instead of just killing us on the spot?”

Dick acted affronted. “Babs! Obviously, it was because they had to wait until we were married _till death do us part_!” He paused thoughtfully. “Seriously, though, they were probably just regular Gotham loonies trying to create a brand. _The Ministers of Death_!” he exclaimed dramatically. “Get it? Because they’re killing people, but getting them married first?”

“Don’t quit your day job and start a criminal-naming business, Dick. Anyway, question number three: why did we decide to pretend to be hypnotized before we took them out? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just defeat them _before_ we got fake-married?”

Dick’s grin turned positively wicked. “You’re forgetting, Babs. I was the one who made the plans back then. So my idea was that we would get fake-married, I would get to kiss you, and then we would take them out. If we took them out early, I’d lose out on my kiss!”

“You did lose out on the kiss,” Barbara pointed out.

“Yeah, I did, because _somebody_ decided to throw a batarang at the minister!” he complained.

She leaned over and kissed him before he could launch into a detailed recital of the rest of the fight. “There. Paid you back.”

Dick smirked. “Nope, you still owe me. You can pay me back tomorrow in front of Gotham’s massed elite.”

She groaned at the reminder. “I feel like we should have eloped when we had the chance. I don't know how I'm going to make it without punching someone.”

Dick’s face immediately dissolved into concern. “Babs?” he asked, hesitantly. “You are okay with it, though, right? I mean, all this--pressure--is the hand Bruce dealt me, and it’s the hand I’m dealing you, and it’s the hand we’d be dealing anyone we adopt. I mean, last chance to back out, you know?”

Barbara turned to him fiercely. “Of course I’m okay with it. It’s your life, and I’m sharing it. That’s how this works. I love you, Dick. Everything we’re getting ourselves into--that’s going to be fine.”

He nodded gravely. “Good, because, you know, we’re already married.”

Barbara yawned, leaning her head on an arm. “What do you think our younger selves would have thought of this? You know, us getting married?”

To her surprise, Dick took the question fairly seriously. “Well, I can’t speak for you, but for me, it would depend on when you caught me. Circa 8 to 11, my immediate response would have been, ‘ _Eew! Gross_!’”

“And after?” she prompted, holding her arms out to be picked up.

He shifted her weight effortlessly into his grasp. “I imagine he’d say, ‘ _about damn time_.’”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me super happy!


End file.
